Strange Bedfellows
by luna-fic
Summary: Dumbledore sends Snape and Hermione on a mission when someone tampers with the floo network. First stop: Paris.
1. The trouble with floo

_Disclaimer: I own nothing, JK Rowling owns everything from Harry Potter, and Joss Whedon owns everything from Buffy. This fic is definitely a Snape?Hermione romance, but there is crossover with BtVS in that Willow makes an appearance, and perhaps a few other surprise guests will too! And I started writing this fic after Goblet of Fire came out, but before OOTP, so there was no inkling of bad Snape/redeemed Snape. And Cornelius Fudge was still Minister. This fic assumes everyone has survived graduation, and the battle with Voldemort still lies sometime in the future..._

_Please, please, please review if you like it... Or even if you don't. It's lovely to get any kind of feedback._

_Now, on to the City of Lights..._

***

The trouble with floo...

----

It was a strange sight to behold. Cornelius Fudge exited his office at the Ministry of Magic to find the Main Hall crowded with wizards and witches, gesticulating and arguing. Some were sticking their heads into the many fireplaces. Others kept throwing floo powder at them, shaking their heads in dismay when a fizzing sound emerged rather than the emerald flames which usually carried them to their destination.

Fudge's eyes went wide. Even he knew what must have happened. He turned on his heel and sped to his office. Time to contact Albus Dumbledore, he thought miserably as he scribbled a hasty note and called his owl down from its perch.

----

Severus Snape was in seventh heaven. It was Saturday, the day after the last class of the year.

"No more Potter, no more Weasley, no more of that insufferable know-it-all!" he thought gleefully to himself. Though a small part of him had to admit that he'd miss Hermione Granger. It wasn't everyday that a teacher had such a promising pupil in his classroom. In fact, Snape realised with a frown, he probably had never taught one as bright as her.

But still... peace at last. Or almost. Snape recalled that he'd still have to see them at Order headquarters this summer, and probably for as long after that as it took to rid the world of the Dark Lord once and for all.

Snape looked back down at the book he was reading and sighed. He was interrupted by a knock at the door. Sighing again, he went to see who was being so rude as to interrupt his thoughts.

"Headmaster!" he was surprised by Albus. "Won't you come in..."

"Severus, dear boy. I'm afraid I have some rather unpleasant news. Someone has managed to bring down the floo network."

"What? I've never heard of such a thing, Albus! The floo network is unbreakable, it has never been tampered with."

"And yet, that is precisely what someone has done. Worse yet, I have visited Hogsmeade, and the town is in disarray. No one can Apparate in or out of it. Minister Fudge owled me this morning and told me that the same problems are occurring all over the country. Here, take a look at this."

Dumbledore handed him a copy of the Daily Prophet. On its cover, a small picture of angry wizards waving their fists in protest accompanied the full-page headline: "Country in uproar: all travel thwarted."

Snape frowned deeply. "What about portkeys? Do they still work?"

"They do, after a fashion. However, some were tested this morning and found to be... unstable."

"Unstable? How?"

"Well, under controlled tests, they did not carry out their functions as predicted. Arthur Weasley was asked to test one by portkeying into the Ministry, and he ended up at Foyles instead! You can imagine the headache at Ministry headquarters. They had to Obliviate over forty Muggle witnesses." Dumbledore sighed.

"Severus, I'm afraid it gets worse. Thanks to my contacts, and with the help of the old Headmasters network of portraits, I've discovered that the wizard behind all this is none other than our old friend Karkaroff."

Snape sneered at this. Karkaroff was the worst kind of coward. No one had heard a peep of him since he'd abandoned his Durmstrang brood at the last Triwizard Tournament, but it was generally believed that he was still on the run from Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Unless...

"Headmaster, do you think that he's done this to curry favour with the Death Eaters, hoping to be let back in? I've heard nothing of this. I would have been contacted... I wonder," Snape pulled up his sleeve, checking for the Dark Mark. He raised his eyebrows in realisation.

"This will affect the Death Eaters too..."

"Yes, Severus. In fact, that may have been part of his plan. I'm afraid I have to ask you a favour. You'd better sit down while we discuss the particulars," Dumbledore smiled with more equanimity than he felt.

Snape had a bad feeling about this.


	2. Commotion on the Eurostar

Commotion on the Eurostar

--

Dumbledore waved goodbye to Professor Snape and one of Hogwarts' brightest new graduates on a warm June evening. A slight twinge of uncertainty worried him. Sending those two out on a mission such as this one was sure to produce explosive results. He just hoped they could avoid hexing each other long enough to track down Karkaroff and stop this madness. How the former Death Eater had managed to thwart the Floo Network AND impede all Apparating across Europe was a mystery, even to Albus Dumbledore.

Snape had been a natural choice to track down Karkaroff. Their history together meant he knew more about the slippery man than most. He needed a Muggle-born companion who was a Member of the Order of the Phoenix to navigate him through 'traditional' travel methods. Miss Granger had seemed the best option here. Sending Harry was pure madness, far too tempting for Voldemort's followers. Dumbledore smiled to himself as he thought of poor Severus and the trials he was going to endure.

----

Hermione Granger had never felt more miserable in her life. After an excruciating eight-hour ride from Hogsmeade into King's Cross, he was now winging non-stop about the squalor of the London Underground.

At Waterloo, they boarded the Eurostar to Paris. Snape became agitated when they passed through the metal detectors at the Eurostar terminal, saying they made his teeth rattle. Hermione rolled her eyes but said nothing.

'Not even past Dover and he's driving me insane already!' she thought to herself. This couldn't bode well for their upcoming trip.

They found a nearly empty wagon and moved to the middle section to occupy a group of four seats organized in such a way that they'd be able to put their precious bags on the seats opposite them.

As Hermione took her seat, she noticed a lone woman sitting in the seats across the aisle from them. She had striking straight red hear. Hermione couldn't really see her face, as she was leaning against the window, listening to a walkman.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Eurostar train to Paris – Gare du Nord. Mesdames, Messieurs, bienvenue à bord le train Eurostar à destination de Paris – Gare du Nord..." the announcer gave the entire spiel in English and French. Hermione was delighted. While she adored Hogwarts, the one thing she missed more than anything about cosmopolitan London was hearing different languages spoken around her.

Snape immersed himself in a book and ignored her until they reached Dover. He started perceptibly when they entered the Channel tunnel, however. Hermione suppressed her grin.

"How long do you suppose we'll be underwater?" he asked, trying to sound calmer than he felt.

"About half an hour, Professor." Hermione felt a wicked sense of satisfaction when she saw him pale slightly.

----

After Calais, the train sped up considerably, causing Snape to look out the window nervously. Hermione took pity on him,

"Don't worry, Professor. This is a TGV train. It's designed to go at this speed. We'll be travelling much faster from here on. You'll get used to it."

"And what, pray tell, is a Tidgyvee?" he snapped at her, annoyed that she was throwing Muggle jargon at him.

Hermione giggled. "T.G.V. It stands for Train de Grande Vitesse." She stopped laughing when she caught his glare. "High speed train!" she finished. "Did you never study a foreign language?"

He turned to her at this and was about to give her a good telling off when a commotion was heard from the seats ahead of them. A man was stalking towards a sleeping old lady, baring what looked like fangs.

"Wands out, Miss Granger!" Snape whispered as he pulled his out. "That is a vampire."

But before either of them could yell: "Stupefy!" the young woman with the red hair in the aisle across from them seemed to spring into action. She brandished a large wooden spike, pausing to look at Hermione's wand in an appraising fashion, and, as she rushed towards the vampire, she threw back at her:

"Oh honey, you call that a stake?"

In the blink of an eye, she'd plunged her spike into the vampire's heart, whereupon Hermione was shocked to see it turn to dust. The old lady slept on, oblivious to her brush with a gruesome end.

Hermione had never seen a real live vampire. She stood gawking at the redhead. The stake had left her hand at lightning speed. But she hadn't quite thrown it. It looked to Hermione like she'd levitated it. But that couldn't be. This young woman had brandished no wand, uttered no spell.

The woman came back towards her. Smiling shyly, she stuck her hand out and said: "Hi! I'm Willow."

Hermione seemed to find her voice. "I'm Hermione, and this is Pr..."

"Snape," he said firmly, casting Hermione a warning glare. She'd forgotten that they were travelling incognito. "Just Snape."

"Well, Just Snape, nice to meet you." She spoke in a soft American accent. Her eyes danced merrily, not noticing the trademark thinning of Snape's lips as his anger rose to the surface. Then she looked back, concerned. "I'm glad that sweet old lady didn't bite the big one at the hands of Mr. Fangy Breath."

Hermione's eyes moved in and out of focus for a second as her brain tried to wrap itself around what the woman had just said. It was Snape's turn to smirk at her, when she cast him a quizzical glance.

"What, Miss Granger, did you never study a foreign language?" he asked.

Willow frowned slightly at this. "Erm, so, you guys might want to whittle yourselves some better stakes in the future. Make 'em thicker and pointier, you know?" she said, pointing at Hermione's wand.

Hermione looked down, only now realizing that she was still holding it. "Oh, this, actually it's not..."

"Much good at all, no you're quite right. Thank you for the... advice," Snape finished, casting Hermione another warning look. She was slipping up too much for his liking, considering she was supposed to be the expert on passing for a Muggle!

Hermione looked at him in irritation. She could tell this woman was no Muggle. Clearly she knew how to deal with vampires. And besides, she wanted to know:

"How did you make your stake fly with such precision?"

"Oh, well," Willow lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I'm a Witch."

Hermione's eyes widened, looking over to Snape, who was frowning at the redhead.

"I take it you attended Salem Academy, then?"

"Um... no. Sunnydale High, actually." Willow's smile wavered. Being asked about Sunnydale always brought pangs of yearning, since her hometown had been swallowed up several years before.

"I am not aware of any School of Witchcraft and Wizardry called "Sunnydale High," Snape said curtly.

Willow burst out laughing. "School of Witchcraft and...! Oh, that's a good one!" She stopped laughing abruptly when she realised they were serious. "Well, I did some summer training at the Watcher's Council in London a few summers ago." Willow didn't like the way this conversation was headed. These two seemed like Watcher types.

A look of recognition crossed Snape's face, along with a newfound disdain for the woman before him.

"So, you work for the Watcher's Council, do you?" he asked, disgusted. Snape knew all about their barbaric practice of using young women to carry out their dastardly deeds.

"No, actually. But the Slayer is my best friend," she said, smiling proudly. "Well, one of the slayers," she amended. "I used to date another one." Her face became serious as she added, "and there is no Watcher's Council anymore. It was destroyed, bombed to smithereens."

Snape was clearly taken aback by this. He'd heard nothing of it in wizarding circles. Then again, the Watcher's council kept their headquarters hidden almost as well as Hogwarts hid itself from the world. And London so regularly fell prey to bombings, whether from the IRA or Al Quaida, that Snape could well imagine this had been explained away as just another terrorist incident.

"It must have been a powerful group that attacked the Headquarters," Snape probed.

Willow answered enigmatically, "It wasn't a group, it was the First."

Snape was intrigued. He tried to sound civil as he removed his bag from the seat opposite him. "Won't you join us?" he asked her, gesturing to the place he'd just cleared.

"Sure. Thanks!" Willow said brightly.

----

Over the course of the next two hours, they discussed many things. Willow explained how she'd worked with the slayer for nearly a decade. Hermione had been fascinated to learn of the existence of demons. She was equally intrigued to note that Snape did not seem at all surprised by this revelation. Snape seemed particularly intrigued by the entity Willow kept referring to as "the First". Hermione now had a general sense that this was "The First Evil". Snape counted backwards on his fingers when Willow mentioned the first appearance of The First at Christmas time some seven years previously. He nodded, as though it all made sense to him.

"What, Professor?" Hermione said in exasperation.

They had dropped their charade of being Muggles after discovering the extent of Willow's powers, explaining briefly about Hogwarts, Voldemort, and the war against his Death Eaters. When Willow had talked about her past, Snape had been alarmed when she described her ability to levitate, burn, and transform objects at will, without the use of a wand or any incantation. It gave him a newfound respect for her, but he also seemed to fear her.

"Well," Snape began pensively, "I believe that it is too big a coincidence that the initial manifestation of the First coincided with the reappearance of the Dark Lord seven years ago. The Dark Lord must have called it forth, or more likely, the First brought the Dark Lord back."

They all sat quietly, contemplating the implications of this. Willow sighed, shaking her head, "I sure wish evil would take a vacation once in a while." They laughed uneasily.


	3. Out of the rattrap

Author's note: Fear not, gentle reader! This fic is HG/SS. But the idea to have them meet Willow was irresistible. After all, someone's got to keep those two on their toes! Love, Luna

--

Out of the rat-trap

--

All too soon, they reached the outskirts of Paris. Hermione was loath to say goodbye to the older witch. She had so much she wanted to talk to her about, and Snape seemed quite taken with her. He'd been more pleasant in the last two hours than she'd ever known him to be.

She turned to Snape when Willow went to the loo. They had only a few minutes before pulling in to _Gare du Nord_.  
  
"Professor, don't you think we should see if Willow might join us for dinner? If she's staying in Paris, that is..." she enquired hesitantly. "It's just... I'm extremely curious about her. She can do wandless magic!"

Snape stayed quiet at this, as though weighing his words carefully. "Miss Granger, wandless magic is not all that it seems. There are dangerous side effects. In fact..." but his voice trailed off when he spotted the redhead coming back towards them.

"Willow, would you like to join us for dinner?" Hermione asked boldly, ignoring Snape's warning glare.

"That would be great!" Willow smiled brightly at them. "I'm staying with an old friend in the Latin Quarter. Do you guys want to eat there?"

"Very well," Snape said rather formally.

"Great! My friend Gabrielle lives right next to a nifty Roman museum, the _Thermes de Cluny_. How about I meet you there at seven? We can look for a restaurant near there."

"Perfect!" Hermione exclaimed enthusiastically. They parted company at the station.

Snape walked sombrely with Hermione towards the metro entrance.

"Oh cheer up, Professor! It will be great. Besides, she doesn't seem like the type to turn us into a toad on a whim. Honestly! The way you're talking, you'd think she had the power to destroy the world or something..."

---

By the time they arrived at the little hotel on Avenue Carnot, they were bickering intensely.

"I told you we had to change at _Château de Vincennes_, but you wouldn't listen to me!" Hermione was pleading. "It's not my fault we went the wrong way around!"

Snape just scowled. "R.A.T.P. indeed! A more apt acronym would be hard to find. I shall never set foot in that Rat-trap metro again!" he huffed.

"Honestly, Professor! It's quite simple to navigate if you'd only read the map once in a while."

Despite knowing that her place was now firmly in the magical world, Hermione felt the inexplicable need to validate Muggle ways whenever she was around Snape. He had such an irritating, superior attitude towards Muggles. He's Slytherin through and through, she thought.

They snapped at each other until they reached street level. It was the sight before them that finally broke up their argument. A block ahead, looming tall and majestic in the afternoon sun, stood the _Arc de Triomphe_. They were viewing it at an angle, Hermione knew, because Carnot was one of the little streets running off the _Étoile_. She hoped Snape would agree to walk to the Champs Elysées to get the full effect.

Even Snape was struck by the looming archway. It made Marble Arch seem like a child's toy in comparison.

"Napoleon could certainly think big, wouldn't you say Professor?" came Hermione's awed voice behind him."

"Hmm," was his only reply.

They checked in, having arranged adjoining rooms with a connecting door for safety. Without the ability to Apparate, it was crucial to maintain close proximity at all times.

---

At five o'clock, Hermione knocked gently on the door connecting to Snape's room.  
  
"Professor? Can I ask you a question?"

He opened the door suddenly, and Hermione was struck dumb momentarily. He had dispensed with his tweed travelling cloak, much to her relief (in her opinion, it made him look like a Sherlock Holmes wannabe). He now wore a crisp new green shirt, made of what looked like a rich blend of cotton and silk, with black trousers that fit him to a tee. His hair had lost its greasy, stringy appearance and fell in waves around his face.

"Your... your hair, it's..." she stuttered.

"I had no choice but to use the Muggle shampoo in there. Horrible stuff..." he muttered.

"No! It looks... It looks nice, Professor," she said, adding "for once" under her breath.

He frowned at her, and she cursed herself for not keeping her thoughts to herself.

"What did you want, Miss Granger? I was rather hoping to catch up on the Muggle news for a while before dinner, so you'd better make it quick."

Again, Hermione was surprised. "I thought you didn't speak French, Sir? How will you understand the Muggle news?"

"Miss Granger, just because I don't know about the latest technology and 'trains de vitesse' or whatever the damnable things are called, does not mean I have no knowledge of French!"

"Oh," was all she could come up with. Wow! She thought to herself, imagining his deep voice wrapping itself around the French language. Wow...

"Well?" he said with growing irritation.

"Sir, I was wondering if you could tell me more about wandless magic..."

He sighed and motioned her through the door. They sat together at a little table. The room was decked out in Louis XVI style furniture, and had a tall window which opened onto a small wrought iron balcony.

"Ooooh! You've got a balcony!" she noticed, rushing over to open the windows. She leaned out, and her breath caught as she gasped out loud.

"What is it?" he rushed over as well, worried. He leaned over too, pressing up against her, his eyes immediately scanning the streets and sky for danger. But she was leaning out, oblivious to everything save the view.

"Isn't it gorgeous? What a view!" she sighed.

Snape looked left and saw that they had a rather spectacular view of the _Arc de Triomphe_. At the same time, he realised he was pressed up against Hermione and, as she leaned over more to get a better view, she pressed her backside right against...

He leaped away from her, as if scalded. "Miss Granger! Kindly step away from the window before you fall to your death!"

They resumed their seats.

"Now, wandless magic. As you know, many wizards perform wandless magic when they are young, before starting at Hogwarts. It is generally unfocused, and difficult to control. It can produce... unexpected results. It is very much tied to the witch or wizard's emotional state at the time. Tell me, Miss Granger, why do we use wands?" he challenged, crossing his arms as he waited for her answer.

"Well, it's a channelling point, it brings our thoughts to a focus, and the incantation resonates with the wand's magical core, amplifying the magic," she recited.

"Correct. Five points to Gryffindor," he added with a smirk. She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"I was joking, Miss Granger! We're outside the grounds of Hogwarts. I could no more add points to your house than I could conjure Mrs. Norris to bite your slippers off," he said, amused at her irritation. "Besides, you've graduated. So you can't lose your house any points ever again, which is just as well, seeing as you seem to have maintained your predilection for mischief."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she said, indignant.

"Inviting that red headed American to dinner when I warned you not to!"

"Well... She seems very nice, and from what she's said, she has been fighting evil for a very long time."

"Yes, she does _seem_ nice, I agree..."  
  
"Why are you so suspicious of her, Sir?"

He sighed at this. "I don't doubt that her motives are good. It's just... Life is not all black and white, Miss Granger. I am living proof of that," he paused, and Hermione had the uncomfortable feeling that he was remembering things he'd done as a Death Eater. "I sense... something... about her, that is all. Nothing more than a feeling." He looked off for a moment, then turned his steely glare to her. "I absolutely forbid you to tell her anything about our mission. You are not to share _any_ details of our past battles, or breathe a word about the Order. Am I making myself clear?"

Hermione was so indignant that she could hardly formulate a coherent sentence. "I'm not a child, _Professor_," she bit out. "I know perfectly well that our mission is secret. Gods! What do you take me for?" she jumped up and stormed out of the room.

Snape smirked to himself. "Peace at last. Now, let's see if I can't get the news on this annoying Muggle contraption," he muttered as he approached the television.

---

He knocked on her door around six o'clock. When she didn't appear right away, he assumed she was still angry, and was about to leave when her door swung open. There was a brief moment when he wondered who was at the door. The woman before him was a vision in red. For this definitely was a woman, not a girl. Her hair was swept up, with just a few silken tendrils framing her face. The soft chiffon fabric of her dress draped elegantly around her shoulders, baring a modest amount of neck, but hugging her shapely curves in a fetching way. The dress's skirt flared slightly, dancing around her calves. Incongruously, her feet seemed to be encased in very sensible, flat suede sandals which managed to still look elegant, in a modern way.

"I thought I'd wear flats since you said you didn't want to take the metro. Here," she thrust a map at him, which jolted him out of his stupor. "We can walk all the way there if we take the Champs Elysées and then cross the Seine after the Louvre."

He looked down at the map, doing some quick mental arithmetic. "I think, Miss Granger, that we may not arrive in time if we walk all this way. I shall do my best to tolerate the metro. Perhaps we could walk on the way back, instead. If I recall, Paris is rather attractive at night," he said enigmatically.

They left the hotel, not noticing the approving glances of the staff, who thought they made an attractive couple.

Hermione was dying to ask him more questions. 'Oh, for Merlin's sake!' she thought to herself. 'He's not my professor anymore. I refuse to be intimidated by him!'

"Sir," she started "when were you in Paris last?"

"That, Miss Granger, is private," he said. But he wasn't sneering as she thought he would. The memory seemed to leave him with a faint trace of a smile.

They took the metro, getting out near the Sorbonne and walking to the Cluny museum. They were half an hour early, and were debating whether to look around the university, when Hermione spotted another museum, right next to the Roman baths.

"Look, Professor! It's the medieval Cluny museum! It says in my guide book that it houses the tapestries of _the_ _Lady and the Unicorn_. We must go in!"

Snape rolled his eyes. 'Girls and their unicorns', he thought to himself. He wondered if Hermione Granger could still get close to one. This train of thought led him to stare at her in that red dress again. 'Probably not,' he concluded. When he realised that he'd just been pondering the sexual experience of a student – former student, but still! – he was thoroughly disgusted with himself. Paying his admission fee, he followed her into the museum, cursing Albus Dumbledore for the tenth time.

Even Snape had to admit that the tapestries were gorgeous. They easily outstripped any of the Hogwarts wall hangings, and that was saying something. He examined with amusement the various theories historians had come up with for what the tapestries represented. It seems the Muggles had finally concluded that each of the hangings represented one of the five senses.

"Fools!" he muttered.

"Who are?" Hermione asked him.

"Muggles! They think these tapestries represent the five senses."

"Well, it's not a bad hypothesis," she defended. "Look there! There's a harp in that one. That must be sound..."

"Silly girl! These tapestries were clearly made by a Master Weaver, a powerful wizard. The harp symbolises the power of the Bards – the descendents of Merlin. The unicorn is, of course, the central character, tied to the woman's purity. The lion... well, I suppose the Weaver might have been a Gryffindor. Pity..." he said grudgingly.

Hermione ignored him, but as she examined each tapestry in turn, she realised that Snape might be right.

'Insufferable, know-it-all git!' she thought to herself. She glanced at him in annoyance and was struck by something. With the glow of the museum spotlights framing his new hairstyle, and the casual green shirt he wore, he reminded her of a Shakespearean actor. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone. She hadn't noticed that before. She suddenly felt very aware that he was a man. Not a wizard in sweeping black robes, but a strong, attractive man. Attractive? Yuck! Where had that thought come from?

She glanced nervously at her watch. "Time to go, Professor!"

'And time for me to Obliviate those thoughts,' she grumbled to herself.


	4. Dinner revelations

**

They walked next door, heading to the old Roman bath museum, and saw the redhead chatting amiably with a beautiful blonde. As they approached the couple, Hermione was struck by the blonde. She was tall and her straight hair fell in a cascade of corn silk. Her blue eyes turned to Hermione and then Snape, like focused beams.

"Hello again, Willow!" Hermione said cheerfully.

"Hey guys! This is my friend, Gabrielle. Gab, this is Hermione, and… Snape," Willow said. "I'm sorry, I don't quite know if that's your first or last name."

"It is my surname," he answered curtly. Then, most uncharacteristically for Snape, he turned to Gabrielle and his scowl turned to a… smile? "But you may call me Severus," he said to her, looking into her eyes. He took her hand gingerly, bending over to kiss it. "Enchanté de faire votre connaissance, Mademoiselle."

Hermione gawked openly at him. It took her half a beat to register that his languid deep voice had awoken a dull ache in the pit of her stomach. 'I knew it!' she thought to herself. 'I knew he'd sound dead sexy speaking French.' Then she groaned inwardly and felt she'd definitely need to wipe her memory clean just for associating the words 'sexy' and 'Snape.' A beat longer and she felt another unfamiliar feeling rising to her chest. It tightened as she realised she was furious with him.

But her thoughts were interrupted by Willow, whose eyes shone with a momentary glare in Snape's direction, before returning to a tranquil steadiness.

"Um, guys? I think the restaurants are in that direction." She took Gabrielle's hand in hers and walked ahead of them, leaving Hermione and Snape to follow behind.

Hermione dared a sidelong glance at him. Then she grinned wickedly to herself. "So… _Severus_, did you like the tapestries?"

He turned to glare at her and she was grateful that looks couldn't kill. But his retort was cut short as Willow turned back to them, beaming.

"Ooooh! Did you guys check out the Lady and the Unicorn? Aren't they gorgeous? Gab and I went this afternoon. Did you feel them? They were positively humming with magical energy, weren't they Gab?" She turned back to Gabrielle, smiling coquettishly, "Gave me a real buzz!"

Snape turned back to Hermione and smirked, giving her an 'I told you they were magical, and why didn't you believe me?' look.

But Hermione wasn't really paying attention. So Gabrielle must be a witch too. How come they could sense the tapestries humming? Hermione was an accomplished witch. She'd received the highest NEWTs scores in a decade, and had been offered full scholarships to all the best wizarding universities. And yet she hadn't been able to sense the magic in them. Just as neither she nor Harry had been able to sense the traitorous Death Eater in their midst last year. Mind you, Blaise Zabini was a Slytherin. It would have been a safer bet to assume they were all Death Eaters. Still, the prospect of another 'insider' had been tempting to Dumbledore, and he'd nearly asked Zabini to join the Order. But a fifteen minute interview with the Headmaster, during which Hermione presumed Legillimency had been used, had sniffed out the impostor.

Her thoughts focused again on Willow. 'I wonder if she can sense Death Eaters, since she seems so intuitive about everything else?' Hermione suddenly wished that she could have Willow all to herself for a few hours. She had so many questions.

They arrived at a little bistro and chose a quiet table on the terrace. Hermione took a moment to luxuriate in her surroundings. Even the warmest June evenings were never this balmy in Scotland. She looked up and down the street, which was lined with similar bistros, each with their own unique decors and table cloths. Most of the terraces were lit with warm coloured lanterns or romantic candles on the tables. Couples strolled along the street hand-in-hand, pausing every now and then to examine the table d'hôte.

'I'm in Paris! I'm in the city of lights!' she suddenly thought gleefully. 'The most romantic city in the world. Too bad I had to come with Snape,' she realised glumly.

They ordered from the table d'hôte. Hermione felt adventurous, and chose the escargots for starters. Then she was going to have 'blanc de volaille' which she presumed was simply chicken breast.

"Everything sounds better in French, doesn't it?" Willow leaned over and winked at her.

"Absolutely!" Hermione agreed, smiling back.

Willow was full of mirth, in a quirky way which resonated with Hermione. And from the way she could hold her own in discussions with Snape, Hermione thought she may even be a kindred spirit. She seemed to have a keen mind, and a thirst for knowledge which matched Hermione's own, making her wonder how Willow would have fared at Hogwarts. 'Brilliantly, I'll bet!'

They chatted about everything and nothing during the starters. Later, when the main courses arrived, Gabrielle frowned down at her plate.

"Mais revenez, espèce d'abruti!" she growled at the waiter. She thrust her plate back at him. "J'ai bien dit _saignant_!" He took it quickly, looking annoyed.

She huffed grumpily, explaining, "Zey cannot even get ze beef right in zees place! Honestly! I asked for it bleeding… How you say?" she turned to Willow.

"Rare, honey. You wanted it rare," Willow smiled at her, placing her hand over Gabrielle's, which seemed to calm her down considerably.

As they waited awkwardly for Gabrielle's meal to return, she turned to them with irritation. "Mais commencez! Pleaze, start wizout me!"

Trying to break the tension, Hermione attempted small talk. "So, Gabrielle… Did you go to Beauxbatons?" She caught Snape's warning glare too late. 'What?' she mouthed to him, frowning.

Gabrielle raised an eyebrow, turning to Hermione with an imperious look. "Non! I went to a lycée, and now I am at ze Sorbonne."

Hermione frowned. "But don't all French witches and wizards go to Beauxbatons?" she pushed. Snape hung his head, placing his hand over his eyes.

At the same time Gabrielle jumped up from her seat. "Excuse me! I must visit ze toilettes!"

Hermione felt terrible. She wasn't sure what she'd said wrong, but she wanted to make it right. She got up and rushed after Gabrielle.

Willow rose to follow, but Snape reached out his hand and placed it gently but firmly on her arm.

"I think she'll be fine," he reassured her. Willow looked in the direction they'd run off in, frowning deeply.

"I wonder what that was all about?" Willow muttered.

"I can't imagine," Snape lied. This was not something he felt comfortable discussing with Willow. She obviously knew nothing of the real wizarding world, and besides, he wanted to ask her a few questions.

"So, Willow. You are a witch living in the Muggle world. An oddity indeed…"

"The what world?" she answered, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

"Muggle. It is what wizards call a non-magical person."

"Oh, I wouldn't call my world non-magical! I realise you and Hermione are trying to be all James Bond about this witchcraft stuff, but I'm the Master of disguise, believe me! Mind you, it wasn't exactly hard to pull the wool over the eyes of the average Sunnydale citizen. Man, a vamp would practically have to walk straight into the Mayor's office for anyone to notice. Well… actually, for a while there, that was pretty much happening on a daily basis and the Mayor was happy to bankroll it. But that's because he was really a demon who'd sold his soul for immortality."

She said all this without pausing, and Snape felt breathless just listening to her. His keen mind had taken it all in, however, and his eyebrow quirked in interest.

"But, what I meant to say is, I know plenty of practising wicca who live in the 'Muggle' world, as you call it. In fact, there's a coven of sweet old witches near Brighton that I stayed with a few years ago," she smiled brightly, not catching Snape's flinch when she'd used the word 'wicca.'

He bit back his initial reaction, choosing his words carefully. "And what did you learn with these… wicca, my dear? Did you worship at the foot of some long lost Goddess?" he asked, trying without success to hide his disdain.

Willow's eyes narrowed. "The Goddess is generous to those who show her respect." Snape watched her eyes carefully for a moment. His masterful skills in Occlumency guaranteed that he could keep an impassive exterior, but inside, his mind was reeling from what he'd seen. For a brief flash, her irises had gone pitch black as she'd uttered the last sentence. 'Yes' he thought to himself. 'The Dark Lord would like nothing more than to get his hands on this one.' He had to find out how deep her powers ran.

"I meant no disrespect, Willow. An old wizard such as myself, trained and disciplined from years at an institution like Hogwarts cannot help but be sceptical of wiccan ways. The wizarding world I come from has always kept religious beliefs firmly at bay, especially when it comes to using magic. But I know well that many powerful… wicca… exist in the world between ours and the Muggle world," he added in what he hoped was a convincingly repentant tone.

"Severus…" she let the name roll off her tongue with a surprisingly snake-like hiss, causing Snape to bolt upright. 'Yes, she'd definitely have been sorted into Slytherin. Cunning young thing!' And for a moment, he wished dearly that she'd been born in the United Kingdom, guaranteeing her full access to Hogwarts. Dumbledore's 'take them all' policy suddenly made crystal clear sense to him.

"…it's pretty obvious to me that you're suspicious of my unorthodox training." She smiled knowingly at him. Then she giggled. "The Watcher's Council felt exactly the same way!" Then she sobered instantly, and her eyes looked far away into the distance. She settled them back on Snape, and he opened his mind to her thoughts. He felt no compunction whatsoever at using Legillimency on her. After all, he was duty-bound to find out how strong her powers were.

What he saw as he probed her mind made his blood run cold. Images of killing, without even uttering the words 'Avada kedavra'. Flaying, performed with the casual flick of her wrist. Another image… this time she hovered in mid-air, eyes black, consumed in darkness as she cried "I give you pain!" and reduced a scantily-clad woman to cries of agony. And a battle so hideous… Had she really nearly brought the world to an end one summer day not long ago on the West Coast of America? It was unfathomable to Snape. This woman had commanded power even the Dark Lord would fear…

She suddenly jolted upright, and he felt her mind shutting like a steel trap. The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, having been blasted out of his seat. She loomed over him.

"What did you do to me?"

He looked up into pitch black eyes. Even the whites had disappeared.

The people at the next table had stopped eating and were staring at the two of them. He reached for his wand in his trouser pocket, debating whether to stupefy her. If he did, he'd have to spend the next hour Obliviating all the Muggles on this street. Then he blanched in realisation. He was not in the UK anymore. There was undoubtedly a Ministry for Magic, headquartered in Paris, which would descend upon him the minute he used his wand. In fact, they may well already be headed here because of Willow's actions. On the other hand, she may not register on their 'magical radar', so to speak. But that couldn't be right. House Elves performed wandless magic, and they certainly could be detected. Then again, every House Elf was registered and accounted for by the Ministry. He doubted very much that Willow was registered anywhere. 'Except perhaps with the now-defunct Watcher's Council,' he thought grimly to himself.

All these thoughts raced through Snape's mind, and he decided that the best course of action was to rise slowly. Once he stood, he raised his hands up in a gesture of peace, and tried to keep his voice even.

"Willow, my dear, you are not the only one who sometimes performs magic unintentionally." He hoped she was buying his bluff. "Even seasoned wizards let their emotions get the better of them."

Maybe it was time for some half-truths, the better to convince her, for he was not at all certain that she might not be able to use 'intuitive' Legillimency on him. He sat down again, gesturing for her to do the same. She looked around, realising they'd caused a scene.

"Sorry about that," she muttered under her breath. "I… sometimes I do things without realising, it's like something just takes over." And now Snape saw that she was trembling. Interesting. "That hasn't happened to me in years, I don't understand… I worked so hard on learning to control my emotions. I thought the Dark Magic was gone from me," she finished, almost in a whisper.

Snape felt a strange bond of empathy forming. He reached over, lifting her chin so she could see he was sincere. "My dear Willow, once the Darkness sets in, it never leaves you. It will always be a part of you. The battle will rage within you, day in, day out. Sometimes, maybe for a few months, or even years, you will think it has left you for good. But it never will, and you must be ever vigilant to cleanse your mind and fight off the Darkness."

She looked back at him pensively. 'This guy's been there too,' she realised. But she was wise enough to realise that she wouldn't be hearing any of his confessions tonight. 'Not unless I can figure out how to get into _his_ mind,' she thought.

"How did you do that? How did you read my mind? And please don't insult my intelligence by telling me it was an accident." Now she eyed him sceptically. "You must be the most composed warlock, er… wizard, I've ever met. I can't imagine you doing anything by accident." She smiled coyly at him.

Snape frowned, unsure whether he'd just been paid a compliment.

"I wonder what could be keeping Miss Granger and Gabrielle," he said, carefully changing the subject. He looked back towards the door to the restaurant, and saw the girls approaching.

***

Hermione had followed Gabrielle into the ladies room. When she got there, she realised there was only one stall, with a little sink and a small chair outside. Loud sobs were emanating from the stall, and Hermione heard Gabrielle blowing her nose noisily. She felt her heart sinking, feeling guilty but not knowing why. She sat on the chair, staring at the stall door.

"Gabrielle?" she called out hesitantly. "I'm so sorry, Gabrielle. I don't know what I said to upset you, but I'm really sorry."

More wailing.

"Look… is it because I mentioned Beauxbatons?"

And now the wailing doubled in volume.

Hermione winced, kicking herself. 'Good going, Granger!' She decided that supportive silence was infinitely better than opening her mouth. She'd only end up shoving her foot into it deeper anyway.

Eventually, the wailing subsided, and an occasional sniff was heard.

"Zey would not take me," came a soft, tearful voice from the other side of the stall door. It seemed easier for her to speak openly when she was hidden from view. "J'ai coulé l'examen d'entrée," she whispered, barely audible. "I was only ten…"

Hermione felt a pang for poor Gabrielle. She'd failed her entrance exam at the tender age of ten, and Hermione realised that she had been forever banished from a magical education as a result.

"That's really unfair," she said, trying to sound consoling. But Gabrielle only started sobbing more loudly.

"Of course eet is unfair! How can zey let one leetle exam decide your 'ole life?" she bawled indignantly. "And zey did not have ze decency to speak to my parents in person. Zey would not let me try ze exam again. My parents, zey simply got a letter… _Mademoiselle Delacour n'a pas obtenu le résultat requis…_" And now the bawling started again.

"Delacour!" Hermione said out loud. "Are you related to Fleur?"

A loud guffaw was heard on the other side of the door, and Hermione realised instantly that this was precisely the wrong thing to say.

"So you know my 'famous' cousin? Of course you do! She wrote a long letter to my fazzer, telling him how she was Beauxbatons Champion in some idiotic tournament at 'Ogwarts! Et bien, j'm'en fous carrément de son maudit concours!"

Time to get off this topic. "Are you half Veela, then, Gabrielle?"

"One quarter, on my fazzer's side."

Well, perhaps this explained Snape's odd behaviour around Gabrielle. Hermione couldn't help but laugh out loud at the thought.

"You think eet eez funny?"

"No! No, Gabrielle. I was just thinking about the effect you had on Professor Snape. Do you know, I've never seen him kiss anybody's hand before. I didn't even know he could be civil to women. You've got a real way with men. It must be magic!" she said, trying to lighten the mood.

After a brief pause, the stall door opened. Gabrielle emerged, dabbing toilet paper at her puffy red eyes.

Hermione held her hand out to her, putting one arm around her as she led her to the sink.

"Let's get you cleaned up. After all, you've got to look your best for Snape!"

Gabrielle looked up and gave Hermione the first genuine smile she'd seen on her since meeting her. It was dazzling. Snape would have been a goner if he'd caught it, and Hermione felt a fleeting moment of relief that this girl was clearly completely taken with Willow. 'Now why on earth should I care about that?' she wondered to herself.

When they rejoined the table, Hermione had the distinct impression that she'd interrupted a serious conversation. She looked quizzically at Snape, but his face was shut to her.

"There you are, my dear Gabrielle! Your steak is getting cold, do sit down and eat." He looked briefly at Hermione. "Miss Granger" he nodded, turning back to Willow.

Hermione sat down, fuming.

**


	5. Midnight in the Tuileries

***

They paid their bill, and Hermione felt sated. After the little incident with Gabrielle, she had sensed the tension between Willow and Snape, and felt sure the evening was ruined. But the evening had progressed comfortably in spite of it, and she found herself sad that the night was ending. She glanced at her watch. It was ten o'clock. She had not been given the opportunity to ask Willow even one tenth of what she wanted to know. The worse part was, she had no idea when they might meet again.

She knew that their mission would be taking them out of Paris tomorrow, and their destination beyond that was not yet determined. Hermione had to keep reminding herself that this was not a holiday, and no, she would not be visiting the Musée d'Orsay this time. She yearned for it. In her opinion, there was no finer museum in the world. The Louvre was sorely overrated. Who wanted to queue for hours to see that flipping Mona Lisa smile, anyway? No, at the Musée d'Orsay, she could ponder the mysteries of Pierre Puvis-de Chavannes, ogle the Odilon Redons, and bask to her heart's content in the Degas and Matisses. Of course, her all-time favourite was Manet, who'd sown the seeds of Impressionism and inspired Picasso and countless others to move in new directions. There was one painting by him that she particularly loved… l'Olympe*. For some reason, it made her think of Snape. She blushed at the implications…

"Miss Granger! When you've decided to join us, do let me know," he snapped at her impatiently.

'Speak of the devil,' she thought, rising from her chair and muttering an apology when she realised they were waiting for her so they could leave. She glared at him. How dare he make her feel like a schoolgirl when he was being so civil to Willow and Gabrielle? Especially Gabrielle. The fool was probably so caught up in the Veela aura that he hadn't picked up on the fact that her preferences leaned the other way. She smirked at the thought of him trying, and failing, to get anywhere with her.

"Willow," she turned to the redhead. "How can I stay in touch with you? I'd really like to write to you. I have so many more questions about wandless magic!"

"I'd love it if you wrote to me. We could be pen pals! Here, let me give you my mailing address," she said, pulling out a scrap of paper and scribbling on it. "I'll put my cell phone number on here too, and my e-mail address. Oh! And I've started a wiccan webpage! You should check it out. There are potions recipes on there and everything."

Snape raised an eyebrow at this, about to question the wisdom of putting that kind of information out there for all and sundry. Then he thought better of it. Nothing he'd heard from Willow tonight led him to believe that she would pay the slightest attention to his advice. He wondered idly which potions she knew how to brew. He was vaguely curious to know whether her wiccan recipes were traditional, or whether these were variations he was perhaps not familiar with.

"Willow, I would be rather interested to see your potions recipes myself. May I visit your… web-page too?"

"Of course, Severus," she grinned at him. His spine tingled every time she said his name like that, almost like a caress. "In fact, if you follow the link on the 'contact' page and try to mail the webmistress, the e-mail comes to me, so anytime you want to correspond…" She left the invitation open. Actually, Willow was hoping Snape would write to her. She still wanted to know how he'd read her mind. Deep down, there was also a small part of her that desperately wanted to know how he lived with the Darkness. His eyes met hers, and she felt him probing her mind again.

"I shall write to you at the earliest opportunity, then," he agreed, nodding to her.

She smiled back at him, throwing her arms around him to draw him into a big hug. Snape was clearly taken aback, and Hermione couldn't suppress her giggle. 'Probably the first time in many years a girl's done _that_ to him!' He patted Willow on the back awkwardly.

When he turned to Gabrielle, he gave her that odd smile, bending down to kiss her hand again. "Gabrielle, vous êtes ravissante!" he said eagerly. Hermione rolled her eyes at Willow, who grinned back at her. Hermione had whispered to her earlier, explaining about the effect Veelas had on men. Willow winked at her.

"Well, take care of yourselves, you crazy kids!" she said merrily, briefly meeting Snape's eye again. He bowed his head to her reassuringly. Hermione saw the unspoken agreement that had passed between them and frowned to herself as they parted ways.

***

True to his word, Snape suggested that they walk back. They meandered along the Rive Gauche, crossing to stroll in front of Notre Dame Cathedral. Its gothic arches rose elegantly over large wooden doors. Lit with yellow and green lights, the façade took on a surreal quality, almost as if it was frozen in time. Hermione sighed, wishing once more that she were here with a lover instead of Snape. She looked over at him, noticing that he too seemed absorbed by the magic of the moment.

They proceeded back towards the Louvre, entering the Tuileries gardens. Couples were wandering together, hand-in-hand. Some were seated together on park benches. A few benches were hidden from plain view, but judging by the moans Hermione heard floating up from them, their occupants were not feeding the birds or enjoying the scenery. She needed something to take her mind off her own romantic yearnings. She'd practically reached out and grabbed Snape's hand earlier as they walked along the Seine. Something about the tranquillity of the water, the majestic beauty of the buildings lining it, the _bateaux mouches_ with their glass tops and star-struck occupants floating by…

'I need a boyfriend in the biggest way,' she thought to herself.

Time to get her mind off romance. She looked over at Snape. Yep, that did it.

"Professor, did you know that Beauxbatons makes students take an entrance exam when they're only _ten_? And if the child fails, they can never again be admitted!"

Snape sneered. "Not every school has such an open policy as Hogwarts, Miss Granger. Beauxbatons takes only the elite. Durmstrang takes only purebloods…"

"What??? Oh that's just… disgusting, is what it is!"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "For once, Miss Granger, we are in agreement."

Hermione was stunned. She'd always thought Snape was elitist, like all Slytherins."What about the American schools?" she asked. "You mentioned the Salem Academy…"

"Ah yes, the Salem school. Now there, I am not at all surprised by the policy. The Salem school was founded in the sixteen hundreds by a colonial wizard by the name of Ashford Adams. Their recruitment policy was modelled on Hogwarts's. Any child in New England who demonstrated magical ability was sent a letter of acceptance at the age of eleven. However, as you may be aware, some Americans hold rather… puritanical views. The Salem witch hunts brought the academy to its knees. It eventually relocated, and cloaked itself carefully from the world. For reasons of necessity, it no longer sent out unsolicited letters of invitation, taking only children who actively sought them out. This meant that most of their recruitment was done amongst existing wizards. Not quite purebloods, but close. With time, it became a rather snooty institution. They now pride themselves on putting out 'the best witches and wizards in the world,' to quote from their annual report."

Snape snorted at this, indicating exactly what he thought about their claims.

Hermione was frowning in thought. "So that's why there are witches like Willow in the US. They have magical ability, but had to teach themselves because they didn't even know about places like the Salem Academy."

"Indeed," he answered.

"But what about the coven she mentioned in Brighton! They sound like they're also living in the Muggle world. Why didn't they come from Hogwarts?"

"Miss Granger, do you honestly think that everyone who receives a Hogwarts letter chooses to come? If they did, Hogwarts would be three times the size it is, at least! There are plenty of magical children who either assume the letter is a hoax, or who are flatly forbidden from taking up the offer by their idiotic parents. Some of them eventually experiment for themselves. But it is a risky endeavour. It is strictly forbidden by Magical Law to sell a wand to an uninitiated witch or wizard. As a result, many of these so called wicca groups," and he winced again as he said it, "learn intuitive magic. Wandless magic, as you like to call it. It is unfocused, dangerous, ritualistic, and downright irresponsible, if you ask me!" he finished.

They walked in silence, the sound of gravel crunching under their feet as they walked down the main path in the Tuileries.

"French gardens are very… manicured, aren't they, Professor?" She felt a change of subject was in order.

"Indeed."

She shivered in the night air. It was still gorgeous, but a light breeze was now blowing. Hermione wished she'd brought a sweater, suddenly regretting her choice of a sleeveless chiffon dress. Something had made her want to dress up nicely for Snape. 'A completely pointless exercise, Miss Granger,' she mused to herself.

It came as a complete shock to her when Snape turned, removing his wand from his pocket.

"You're shivering. I'm afraid I have no jacket to offer you, Miss Granger. But perhaps this will help."

He uttered "Incendio" and ran his wand along her arm, across her neck and then down the other arm. Her breath caught at the intimate gesture, and she shivered again. A sudden feeling of warmth spread through her, and she gasped at the sensation. She felt her nipples harden suddenly, and blushed scarlet. His eyes seemed to linger on her chest for a moment, and she looked away, mortified.

"Oh! Look, a statue of Artemis…" she pointed vaguely towards a marble statue and walked briskly in its direction. In her haste to escape, she dragged her sandals across the gravel, picking up a couple of stones on the way. Her next steps forward brought her to an agonising halt as the pebbles dug into the soles of her feet.

She buckled over from the pain. "Damn it!" she cried, hobbling over to the nearest bench.

Sitting down, she removed one sandal, tipping it over to shake out the pebbles. When none fell out, she realised they must still be stuck to her feet. She was about to check them, when a hand stopped her in her tracks.

Snape knelt down, wrapping one hand around her ankle. He used the other to brush lightly under the sole of her foot, releasing a couple of stones. Hermione blushed at the intimacy of their situation. For a brief instant, in this position, she imagined herself as Cinderella to his Prince Charming. Then she shook the image away. Honestly! Snape, a prince!

But once he had repeated the process on her other foot, he did not rise. Instead he kept one hand on her ankle and traced up the length of her calf with his other hand. When he reached her knee, his hand wandered up her inner thigh.

She felt as though she was outside of her body, looking in on the scene but unable to affect it. She saw herself parting her legs wider to give him free access. His hand moved a bit farther up… Then, as if waking from a daze, he pulled his hand away, looking up at her with a shocked expression. He rose abruptly, opening his mouth to speak. But nothing came out. Instead, he offered her his hand, pulling her out of her seat.

She did not release his hand, nor did she clutch at it. He seemed to be breathing deeply, steadying himself to say something.

"Miss Gr… Hermione. I seem to have got carried away by the moment. I apologise." Then he bent towards her hand, brushing a light kiss over it as he had for Gabrielle.

"That's alright, Prof… Severus," she said hesitantly. He didn't glare this time. She noticed he was still holding her hand, running his thumb over her fingers. 'Maybe he's still under the Veela aura,' she thought. That must be it.

She sighed, wondering why men never noticed her for herself. Ron had only asked her out last year after Fleur had turned him down flat while she was over apprenticing with McGonnagall. 'Just like Snape… caught in the Veela heat, and needing to vent with someone.' She'd ended up sleeping with Ron that same night, and regretting it intensely the next morning. Their friendship had survived on shaky ground. She wouldn't be making the same mistake tonight.

They walked together in silence, Snape still holding her hand. She kept sneaking peaks at him, trying to read his expression. An exercise in futility, she soon realised. Instead, she looked ahead of her. Her heart felt tight in her chest, as if it might burst with panic. They were coming up to the far end of the Tuileries, where the Orangerie and the Jeu de Paume flanked the gates which opened onto Place de la Concorde. There, looming tall and all aglow with fiery orange light stood Cleopatra's Needle. Beyond it stretched the Champs Elysées, the glorious Arc de Triomphe, and in the distance, l'Arche de la Défense. She sighed deeply at the sight, silently thanking Dumbledore for this amazing night.

They had just exited the gates of the Tuileries, when all at once the lights went out on the Concorde and the other monuments. Hermione glanced at her watch.

"Midnight," she said. "Time for me to turn into a pumpkin," she laughed, remembering her Cinderella moment from earlier.

Snape quirked an eyebrow at her. He pulled her to him impulsively, putting his arm around her. "And will you turn back into a princess if I give you a kiss?" he said in a low voice.

Before she could react, his lips were on hers, kissing her firmly. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth and bit gently on it, causing Hermione's knees to buckle. She would have slid down, but his arm held her strongly against him. His other hand finally released hers, and slid up to the draping collar of her dress, playing with the soft fabric there. Then he stroked her neck.

"Such soft skin you have… Perhaps we'd better call you Snow White instead," he murmured against her lips.

Hermione's mind, which had shut down when his lips touched hers, awoke again and she opened her eyes to look into his.

It all crashed into her then. She was looking into Severus Snape's eyes. Those same eyes had terrified and persecuted her for seven years – though she would admit under duress that he hadn't been as bad in the last two years. Still, this was her dreaded Potions Master, who'd stood at the front of the class, mocked her, insulted her… Even if it had been for the sake of maintaining his cover as a Death Eater, she didn't doubt that he'd taken a perverse pleasure in it. Sadist!

She pulled away from him, angry at herself, and at him, for presuming too much.

Gathering the remaining shreds of her dignity, she held her head up. "She was quarter Veela, you know. I think you're still under her spell!" She threw it out at him, like a gauntlet tossed to the ground in challenge.

Snape looked momentarily bewildered. Then realisation dawned. Gabrielle was quarter Veela, and Snape had fawned over her a bit too much. But what of it? What on earth did that have to do with anything? Then he realised something else: Hermione was jealous. He smiled at this.

"Miss Granger, I can assure you of two things. One, Veela heat is only effective in person. And two," he moved in on her and wound his arms around her once more, "if I am under anyone's spell, it is yours."

He didn't kiss her now, just looked into her eyes. She was stunned by his bold moves and bolder words.

"Who are you, and what have you done to my former Potions Master?" she asked.

He laughed deeply. "He's on vacation."

She rose up on tippy toes and kissed him gently on the lips.

***

They managed to walk back to their hotel in semi-civilized fashion. But when they got to the staircase, Hermione put on a burst of speed and ran up the four flights to her room. Snape refused to run so he climbed briskly behind her, taking the stairs two at a time. He reached their floor in time to see her shutting her door as she called out, "Well, goodnight then!"

Snape was stunned. He stood outside her door for a moment, willing it to open. When nothing happened, he sighed. 'Clearly you misread the entire situation. Idiot! Definitely loosing your edge with the ladies, that's for sure.'

Shoulders slumping slightly, he unlocked the door to his own room, and let himself in. He threw himself onto the bed. Then he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he should bother trying to alleviate his raging erection.

Out of the blue, the connecting door to her room was flung open. She stood there, fuming.

"Well? What were you waiting for? An engraved invitation?"

He leapt off the bed, stalking towards her and she grinned at him. Without a word, he knelt down at her feet, raising the hem of her skirt. He kissed the soft skin inside her knee, then trailed kisses upwards, along her inner thigh. His hands began to stroke inside her legs, then reached up and pulled her panties down. With little prompting, he got her to step out of them. Then he lifted her dress again, and sucked on her inner thigh while his hands slid up to trace out the outer lips of her pussy. She was soaking wet, her lips swollen and full. He traced the shape of them slowly, tasting them before pushing his tongue into her fully. She started at the sudden invasion, moaning aloud as her knees buckled. He smirked against her, dragging his tongue up and down along her slit. When he'd done this for a good five minutes, her juices drenching his chin, he moved up to her clit and flicked it back and forth with the tip of his tongue. Then he curled is tongue into an 'o' so that it formed a cylinder, wrapping it around her clit. He grabbed her firmly by the backside and thrust her pelvis back and forth, so her clit pushed in and out of the little hole he'd shaped with is tongue.

The sensation was unbelievable. Hermione wasn't sure what he was doing to her, but it was unlike anything she'd every experienced. Ron had never tasted her like this. Sex with Ron had been okay - he'd lasted more than the expected five minutes - but she'd had to fake her enthusiasm since he hadn't had the first clue how to get her off. She'd done that on her own later in the shower.

But this, this was incredible. Just when she thought it couldn't get any better, he thrust a finger into her. She felt the world explode suddenly, and she yelled out, coming violently. He kept teasing her a moment longer, then he unbuttoned his shirt and cast it off. He got rid of his trousers with a flick of his wand. Rising slowly, he rubbed his chest against her pussy, coating it with her juices.

When he stood fully, he kissed her passionately, and she tasted herself on his lips. While he did this, he fumbled behind her. Finding her zipper, he yanked it down, pushing the dress roughly off her. She wore a red lacy bra underneath. He pulled the lace cups down, exposing her nipples, and pinched them firmly, causing her to moan into his mouth. Then he stroked her breasts roughly till the nipples were hard. He reached down and hoisted her up against the wall, wrapping her legs around him and entering her suddenly. He slid effortlessly into her wet heat. Pushing to the hilt, he waited there, enjoying the feeling of her clenching and unclenching. Then he started to move slowly in and out of her, building up the pace. When he felt her tightening, he reached between them and touched her clit gently, in sharp contrast to the fast, rough pace he was setting. That was what put her over the edge, and she came again as he grunted out his orgasm. They both twitched with aftershocks for a few moments, until she slid herself down, putting her shaking legs back on the ground at last.

They hadn't said a word to each other, and when he spoke, she was sure it would break the spell they were under. For Hermione was certain they must be under a spell. Her rational brain kept repeating, "you just fucked Snape against a wall." Then, a nasty Prefect-like voice said, "actually, technically, Snape just fucked _you_ against a wall."

He looked into her eyes, reaching out to touch her cheek. "Parfaite," he said in his deep, sex-filled voice.

'Oooooo! Snape speaking French. Not fair!' she thought to herself. Then she realised he'd called her 'perfect.'

She smiled shyly up at him. He looked down to where her breasts were still pushed up by her bra. Running his fingers briefly over the tops, he leaned down and sucked on one nipple while playing with the other. She started panting softly. Then, unbelievably, she felt him hardening against her thigh.

"So Hermione," he said lazily as he released her breast and looked into her eyes, "your place, or mine?"

She grinned at him, pulling him into her room.

---------------


	6. Leaving Paris behind

They fell asleep around three in the morning. They'd explored each other's bodies thoroughly, and Hermione had surprised herself in her boldness. She'd sucked Snape's dick with great gusto, and when she'd rolled over onto her stomach for a rest, he'd climbed onto her back and slid into her from behind. She'd been stretched in a different way, but was still so wet from two orgasms that it hadn't hurt. In fact, she was amazed at how pleasurable it had been. She could rub herself against the bed, and when he'd finally reached around to stroke her clit, she had come again. She drifted off to sleep with a feeling of warmth flooding her as he held her in his strong, wiry arms.

***

She awoke the next morning to the wonderful feeling of being licked. Opening her eyes, she looked down and saw his bobbing head between her legs. She giggled aloud.

"So it wasn't a dream after all," she said sleepily, smiling down at him with something in her eyes. It was a look he recognised all too well.

He answered her by thrusting two fingers inside her, and she arched off the bed, hissing. She was a bit sore from last night's efforts. But he didn't relent and thrust harshly in and out of her. She frowned a bit at this, but soon found herself coming as he sucked her clit avidly.

She was still panting, trying to come down, when he entered her swiftly. This time she cried out in pain. He muttered an incantation under his breath, and her pain vanished, replaced by a tingling sensation of warmth that spread throughout her body. He pumped in and out of her roughly for a few minutes, coming suddenly. Groaning, he rolled off her, lying on his back and shielding his eyes from the morning sun. He looked back at her, smirking.

"Good morning," he said slowly. Then he rolled back towards her, reaching one hand out to play with her nipples. She looked at him with a slight frown.

"Good morning."

"Did you enjoy your wake up call?" he said.

"Yes… but I'd rather you stopped when I yelp in pain, instead of casting a spell on me."

"But the pain ceased, did it not?" he asked, frowning back at her.

She gulped, looking away in annoyance. "Yes."

"Hmmm." And that, it appeared, was the end of it. "Well, we'd better get up and be on our way if we're going to make it to Fontainebleau on time." And with that, he left her room. After a few moments, she heard his shower running.

She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, silent tears pouring down her cheeks.

***

Snape cursed both himself and Hermione as he lathered his arms in the shower. "Damnable woman." He recalled how she'd shivered when he'd tried to warm her last night. That was what had started all this. He could not get involved with her. Hermione Granger, of all people! Little Miss Know-it-all, thorn in his side… 'Best fuck you've had in ages,' his inner voice added.

He hung his head in the shower, taking a few calming breaths. He'd have to take particular care to act like an even bigger bastard than usual. 'Can't have her fawning over you like this morning.' He remembered the way she'd looked at him. In his mind, her brown eyes had melted to green, and the redhead who haunted his dreams smiled softly at him. She looked a bit like Willow, Snape realised vaguely as the memory washed over him.

"Lily," he gasped, eyes shut. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he stood under the pouring water. The unwelcome memory lingered like a dark cloud.

"Never again", he muttered under his breath.

***

Hermione decided not to wait for him and descended the stairs to the breakfast room. The waiter brought her café au lait with croissants and butter, which she devoured hungrily. Feeling a bit better, she sat back, debating whether to wait for Snape. In her uncertainty, she delayed too long and now she was trapped as she noticed him entering the room. He took his seat across from her.

"You have half an hour to pack and then we must head to the station. I suppose we'll have to take the cursed rat-trap back to Gare du Nord to catch the train to Fontainebleau," he said in a perfectly neutral tone.

Hermione just glared back at him. 'So he's trying to ignore the whole thing, then. Fine. Two can play that game.'

"So, Professor. Do you think Madame Maxime will help us?" she asked, all business.

He shot her a warning look, hissing, "Keep your voice down, woman! You know we're not supposed to discuss this in public!"

Her eyes danced with mirth. It was so easy to get him worked up. Interesting that he'd called her 'woman' instead of girl. Hermione's lips curled briefly into a devious grin.

She picked up a breadstick, snapping it in two and buttering the broken end casually. Then she brought it to her lips and licked the butter off.

This caught Snape's eye, and he dropped his knife distractedly.

When she had thoroughly licked all the butter from the stick, she took it slowly into her mouth, sucking on it idly. She looked up and met his eye as she continued to suck up and down the breadstick. She picked up the pace a bit, and started to moan low. A young man at the table next to them was ogling her now. Snape was frowning, but couldn't take his eyes off what she was doing. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he felt himself stiffening into erection.

'Little oversexed minx,' he thought angrily.

After a few more strokes, when Hermione felt she'd tortured him long enough, she bit down forcefully and the stick snapped with a loud crunch. Snape and the young man who'd been staring both flinched, and the young man physically started in his chair and winced, causing his girlfriend to frown. She had until now been oblivious to everything because her back was to Hermione.

"I think I'll go pack now," Hermione said brightly as she got up and left Snape to deal with his little problem.

***

By the time he'd returned to his room, she was all packed.

"I'll wait for you downstairs," she called to him through the door.

They checked out and headed to the station, catching a fast train to Fontainebleau. The scenery was beautiful and Hermione allowed herself to be carried away by the view, thankful for an excuse not to talk to Snape. For his part, he buried his nose in a book and ignored her.

Once they'd reached Fontainebleau, they headed for the palace. It was beautiful, sprawling across many acres. They paid their admission to the château like all the other tourists. But Snape headed straight for the Chinese room, bypassing the dining room, ball room and music rooms on the way. They waited till they were alone, and then Snape tapped a porcelain dragon with his wand, muttering "Dissendio."

The dragon seemed to spring to life, standing aside and revealing a small passageway. Snape smirked at Hermione, "Ladies first."

She entered the passageway cautiously, muttering, "Lumos." It curved immediately to the left, and then downwards. From what Hermione recalled of the room they'd just been in, they were passing directly beneath the patio doors, and under the garden. They walked in silence for a good ten minutes, and then the passageway sloped upwards. When they reached the end, Snape stepped forward and tapped the door. "Revelo," he said.

The door dissolved and Hermione found herself in the entrance hall of an elegant seventeenth century château, not unlike Fontainebleau. A boy approached them. He was dressed as a page, complete with a red velvet waistcoat and a white wig tied back in a little ponytail. Hermione was certain he couldn't be more than ten.

"Bonjour Monsieur, Mam'selle," he bowed to each of them in turn. "Madame Maxime is waiting for you. I will take you to her." He turned and led them up a wide marble staircase which turned at a landing and wound its way around a huge crystal chandelier. This was clearly a priceless antique, and held thousands of lit candles, which glimmered and cast long flaming shadows against the velvet covered walls.

When they reached the top, the boy led them along a corridor of mirrors which were criss-crossed with a latticework of white wood. He turned suddenly and put his hand against what seemed like just another part of the mirrored wall. A doorknob appeared, and he pulled the door open for them, ushering them through.

They entered a gigantic room. One entire wall was made up of a ceiling-to-floor window. There, sitting in a huge armchair behind a mahogany table, sat Olympe Maxime.

She turned to greet her visitors. "Ah! Zair you are, Professeur Snape! Et Mademoiselle 'Ermione. Come in, come in!" she gestured, indicating a set of plush velvet chairs for them to sit in. "Edouard, apporte le café!" she said to the young boy. He bowed and withdrew.

Hermione shot Snape a quizzical glare, but he ignored her. She was wondering why Madame Maxime didn't have House Elves.

"So, mes amis! Dumblydore has written to me, asking that I should provide assistance. But he has not told me everyzing. I believe he is worried zat ze owl post could be, 'ow you say? Inter…?"

"Intercepted," Hermione offered.

"Yes. Intercepted."

Snape gave an outline of what had occurred to date, indicating that Karkaroff was the main suspect.

"Oui… we have 'ad ze same problèmes here. No Apparition, no fireplace travel. Eet iz a mystery which our Ministry is very worried about." She rose from her table and picked up what looked like a large sea shell.

"Edouard! Le café, nom d'une pipe!" she yelled into it.

The young page boy came rushing back in, breathless. He was balancing a silver tray and coffee set, with silver creamers and sugar bowls and three fine porcelain cups. Hermione thought the poor boy would crumble under the weight and she leapt up to help him. Before Madame Maxime could stop her, she'd taken one end of the tray and had helped Edouard put it down.

He scurried out of the room after pouring out the coffee.

"I know someone who could 'elp you," she said after taking a sip of coffee. "I will contact him and I hope to have some news for you by supper time."

They talked of other things. Hermione enquired about Fleur, noticing Snape's eyebrow rising when he heard the Delacour name. 'Thinking of Gabrielle, is he' she thought to herself. This caused Hermione to flush red in anger, and unfortunately, Snape caught her furious reaction.

When they had finished, Madame Maxime called Edouard on the shell.

"Edouard will now show you to your rooms. I have arranged adjacent rooms in our best guest suite. You will have a private living room. Will you join me at ze 'ead table tonight for supper?"

"We would be honoured to do so, Madame," Snape bowed his head in deference.

Edouard popped his head around the door nervously. Madame Maxime's smiled vanished when she spotted him.

'Poor Edouard!' Hermione thought. 'Then again, the sight of Olympe and Snape would be enough to frighten anyone, even a twelve foot troll!' she thought to herself as she gazed at Snape. His eyes met hers, and then flashed with anger. He scowled back at her.

Hermione chuckled inwardly. 'Being a Legillimens must be a bummer sometimes. I think I've just found myself a brilliant new pastime!' she thought to herself as they followed Edouard out the door. She started cataloguing all the insults she could think of so she'd be ready next time Snape looked her way.

*


	7. Beauxbatons

Their apartment in the château was stunning. The style of the furniture was similar to that of the hotel at Avenue Carnot, but much more sumptuous. Hermione's room overlooked a sparkling river, which cascaded into spectacular rapids.

"So this is Beauxbatons," she sighed. She wondered if all the students here were academic snobs, given the entrance criteria. Pour Edouard didn't seem that way. Was Edouard a student here?

Glancing at her watch, she saw it was only ten o'clock, so she threw off her clothes to soak in the bathtub. The bathroom was all white, and contained a whirling pool made of marble. She opened the tap marked "lavende" and the delicious scent of lavender filled the room as her bubble bath filled up.

As she sunk into the tub, all her worries seemed to fade.

***

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, the door to the bathroom was squeaking open. Shaking the cobwebs from her mind, she realised the water had gone cold. As she looked up, she saw Snape standing there, frowning at her.

Trying to act more dignified than she felt, she asked, "What do you want?"

"I just came to make sure you hadn't drowned yourself. I've been calling out to you for the last ten minutes," he said, sounding annoyed.

"Severus, you say the sweetest things. I'm so touched that you cared enough to wait ten whole minutes before storming in to save me! I'm sure I could have drowned a thousand times over in that time," she snapped back.

He scowled at her, then turned and stormed out the door muttering something like, 'should have just let her.'

"You've got about ten minutes till lunchtime," he called out to her.

She picked up the nearest sponge and flung it at his retreating form, missing his head narrowly. This caused him to pause. He picked up the sponge, then turned slowly, stalking back into the room. She blanched, not expecting this.

He walked right up to the edge of the tub, dropping the sponge into it as she tried her best to cover herself. The bubbles had all but vanished, and she felt vulnerable still sitting in the tub. His eyes lingered a bit longer than necessary on her legs, then travelled to her chest and finally settled on her face. In that time, his expression seemed to soften a bit. He reached over to the towel rack and handed her a large, fluffy white towel.

"Get dressed, we don't have all day," he said simply, turning to leave again.

"Like I said, you say the sweetest things…" she grumbled as she rose out of the tub and wrapped the towel around her. She stepped carefully out of the tub and dried herself off, moving towards her room when she felt him behind her.

"You've missed a spot," he spoke softly into her ear as he dabbed her shoulder with a hand towel. She held her breath.

Time for a little Gryffindor courage, she decided. She faced him, looking him straight in the eye.

"Why are you acting like this? I don't understand you…" she asked, losing her nerve somewhat as she saw how deeply he was examining her. As if he could read straight into her soul. Then she remembered that he could.

Fine. Let him read my thoughts, since I can't seem to put them into words. I've got nothing to hide, anyway. I can't get Harry into trouble, since Snape knows pretty much everything that I do. In fact, maybe Snape should have just had a good Legillimency session with me before he left for Paris. He could have absorbed all my Muggle knowledge, and I wouldn't have had to come on this stupid mission anyway…

"Does your mind always race about like this?" he said, in that soft, deep voice. His eyes seemed to be smiling a bit, but the smile had not reached his lips.

"Maybe," she defended.

"It is… charming," he said enigmatically.

"You haven't answered my question!" she said.

"No, you're quite right. I haven't." And with that, he left her to get dressed.

***

Beauxbatons' dining hall was all mirrors and crystal. Up on a low platform, the Head Table was laid out. It was done up with golden candelabras, fine porcelain and a white linen tablecloth. There were a few students sitting around lower tables, but term was over here, so Hermione assumed these stragglers would be leaving shortly.

The only other person at the Head Table was a thin, pale man with silver-grey hair and a little moustache. He rose to greet them, and motioned for them to sit beside him.

"Ah! Professeur Snape et Mademoiselle Granger, Madame Maxime asked me to keep you company," he spoke in a lilting voice with only the slightest accent. "I am Philibert de Blanac, the Assistant Headmaster here."

"Pleased to meet you, Professeur de Blanac," Snape shook his hand. Hermione took her turn after him.

"You speak beautiful English, Professor," she smiled at him.

He blushed slightly, but seemed extremely pleased. "Thank you, Mlle Granger. I spent one year in Aberystwyth at the University of Wales. It was part of my Dissertation work on magical archaeological remnants at Camelot."

"Oh, so you believe Camelot was truly in Wales, not Cornwall?" she asked him. They discussed various theories, and de Blanac told them of his findings while several page boys served a Vichyssoise soup for starters.

"Professor de Blanac, does Beauxbatons not have House Elves?" Hermione asked once they had moved on to the main course of venison. Part of her was hoping that they took a more enlightened view of things here, but in her heart, she doubted it.

De Blanac shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, it is a… particularity of Madame Maxime's that only humans should inhabit the castle." He said nothing more of the subject, but Hermione saw Snape's eyebrows rise at this.

"Professor, have you heard of the troubles with the floo network?" Snape asked.

"Indeed, it is most worrying. Madame Maxime has told me of Albus Dumbledore's information, and I am most disturbed that Igor Karkaroff has acted in this fashion. I felt certain that he was coming around to our way of seeing things…" he trailed off, glancing nervously at Hermione. It seemed to her that de Blanac had more to say about it, but didn't want to reveal anything in front of her. She felt insulted by this, but recognised that getting information was more important than her feelings.

She rose from her seat, saying: "you know, if you don't mind, I think I've eaten enough. I'd like to take a look at the library, if that's okay?"

Snape nodded at her in approval, and de Blanac tried to hide his relief. "I will get Edouard to show you the way," he offered as he motioned to the side of the room.

Little Edouard appeared and led Hermione out of the room. "Merci, Edouard," she said to him.

He turned to her wide-eyed. Then he smiled broadly and she saw that he had a missing tooth. Poor lad couldn't be more than eight years old, she thought to herself. Edouard took a circuitous route via the basement, popping into a swinging door while Hermione wondered where they were. He appeared a moment later carrying a plate stacked high with pastries. There were éclairs, mille-feuilles, and tiny fruit tarts. He thrust the plate at her with a smile.

"Mademoiselle did not get dessert, yes?"

"Oh thank you so much, Edouard!" she took the plate eagerly. She picked a large éclair off her plate and handed it to the boy. "This is for you, Edouard." He looked stunned, then shook his head, about to protest. "I would be very pleased if you would keep me company by eating with me," she added shrewdly.

Young Edouard was confused. He had been told to do anything required to make the guests comfortable. Hermione sat at a little bench on the side of the corridor, and refused to eat until he joined her. He sat with her hesitantly, and bit into the pastry. His face lit up in bliss.

"How long have you been at Beauxbatons, Edouard? Are you a student here?"

"Non, Mademoiselle. I am an orphan, and Madame Maxime took me in when my parents died. They were wizards, but I am not. How you say? I am…"

"A Squib?" she asked softly.

"Oui, a Squeeb."

Hermione frowned at this. "Are all the page boys Squibs, Edouard?"

"Oui Mademoiselle."

"Are there really so many of you, at such a young age?" she asked, unable to hide her amazement.

Edouard shifted in his seat, whispering back, "Le Grand Mage Noir a tué nos parents…"

Hermione was at sea for a moment. Grand Mage Noir? The great black sorcerer… Then it dawned on her. Voldemort.

"Voldemort killed your parents," she said aloud, more to herself than to Edouard. But he leapt from his seat, eyes wide with terror.

"Mademoiselle! You cannot say his name in these walls!" he glanced about with a wild look, as though Voldemort was about to appear that instant. "You will call him here!" he said urgently, grabbing her hand and running the rest of the way up the corridor. He turned left, and muttered a word that Hermione couldn't understand.

They found themselves instantly in Madame Maxime's office. She looked up from her books in alarm.

"Edouard! What is ze meaning of zis intrusion!" she said sharply.

Edouard stood panting, and gulped down air to catch his breath. "Madame! Madame! She said his name, she said it!" he looked up at Hermione nervously.

Madame Maxime glared at Hermione for a moment, then she said in a more soothing voice, "Edouard, laisse nous quelques instants. Leave us. I will protect the school, do not worry." Edouard shuffled out backwards, as if afraid that losing eye contact with his Headmistress would spell certain disaster. Then he turned abruptly and ran out of the room.

"Sit down, please, Mademoiselle Granger," she said wearily.

Hermione did as instructed, though she was very suspicious of the whole thing. What bogus story had Madame Maxime been feeding her students?

"You must understand, Beauxbatons is not as well protected as 'Ogwarts," she began. "Your school is isolated from cities, high in ze 'ills of Scotland. Ze founders of 'Ogwarts were wise to shelter it like zis. Our school, Beauxbatons, was founded during ze time of le Roi Soleil, Louis ze fourteenth. Our founder, Hector de Vaillancourt, had grand schemes zat ze school would rival Versailles in its grandeur. Well, he insisted it should be near Fontainebleau, near ze heart of France, close to Paris." Madame Maxime sighed deeply.

"It was a fatal mistake, one which we have paid for dearly, especially two decades ago during ze rise of Le Grand Mage Noir." She shuddered as she said it.

'She's not nearly as brave as Dumbledore,' Hermione noted with dismay. 'At least he is wise enough to use Voldemort's name. He knows that avoiding the name increases its power for terror.'

"At Beauxbatons, we do not say ze name. Ze students are taught zis at an early age. I must admit zat I have never contradicted ze rumours zat ze name could conjure le Mage Noir," she said, somewhat embarrassed.

"But that's terrible! You're perpetuating the fear and giving Voldemort more power by doing so!"

Maxime's eyes shot up at Hermione as she said his name.

"Do not presume to tell me how to run my school, Mademoiselle!"

She turned away from Hermione as she said curtly, "I will see you at dinner."

Hermione Granger knew a dismissal when she heard one, and let herself out without another word. She turned down the mirrored corridor and headed back towards the main staircase with its oversized chandelier.

She noted that the whole school was done up like Versailles, very regal, but a bit too museum-like for her taste. Everything had a refined, elegant look. But there was no humour to the place, and she even found herself missing Peeves. Where were all the ghosts? She hadn't seen a single one yet. 'They probably didn't pass the ghostly entrance exam,' she snickered to herself.

Her explorations led her to the Library, causing her eyes to light up. Pushing the door, she entered a gorgeous atrium, flooded in light. Off the atrium were various corridors.

"Litterature sorcière du 18e sciècle" read one of the signs, with an arrow pointing to the right.

"Potions et herbes magiques" led to a section with titles like, "Recettes des quatre coins du monde magique" and "La passion des potions." She rolled her eyes at that one. The last thing she needed was a book by someone who was passionate about potions. It made her think of Snape. What was he thinking? He had been so passionate last night, then this morning, something had changed. But why? It was giving her a headache, and she decided to take a mental holiday from any thoughts of him.

She hurried out of the Potions section to check out the Transfiguration books. Maybe she'd find some long lost text that Hogwarts didn't have.

***

Three hours in the library had turned up an interesting book on the history of Beauxbatons, but not much else. "Contes de Beauxbatons," was more like a series of tales than a true historical account, but its anecdotal style was rather engaging. Hermione found it particularly amusing to peruse the section on the adventures of three illustrious graduates named Athos, Porthos and Aramis. 'They can't be serious!' she thought to herself.

She flipped father ahead, and discovered that many characters from fiction seemed to figure in the book. She'd have to ask Professor de Blanac about this.

Upon returning to the apartment, she found Snape sitting in their common room with his nose in a book.

"What did you learn from Professor de Blanac?" she asked.

He looked up blankly. "What? Oh! De Blanac… it's… complicated." He looked away, frowning.

Hermione rolled her eyes and plonked herself down on the couch. "Well, fortunately for you, I've got an exceptionally keen mind which enjoys sorting 'complicated' things out. Fire away."

He looked back at her with an appraising look. He smiled thinly after a while. "Very well. De Blanac is a Death Eater."


End file.
